


That's Why Her Hair Is So Big, It's Full of Secrets

by uisceB



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Caught in a really bad romance, Enemies to Lovers, Extremely tasteless goat-related humor, F/F, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uisceB/pseuds/uisceB
Summary: “I don’t like you, I don’t trust you, and if you cross me, you will find yourself drowning in a pit of your own entrails,” Zelda tells her, which is a shocking departure from her sister.It’s also one of the sexiest things Lilith has ever heard anyone say, and she avoids Zelda like the plague for the next several weeks.
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 75
Kudos: 292





	That's Why Her Hair Is So Big, It's Full of Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely canon-complient-ish…like, very very loosely. Sort of follows the timeline, not always, kind of in and out, pretty much ignores the grand majority of season 3 because I can’t quite deal with what they did with Lilith at the end there so I'm simplifying things.
> 
> Anyhoops.
> 
> Enemies to friends to enemies to friends to enemies to lovers to friends to lovers to enemies to lovers to enemies to friends to enemies to friends to lovers…sort of the Jeremy Bearimy of relationship progressions…little bit o’ humor, little bit o’ angst, little splash o’ hate sex, little tempest o’ jealousy, some love and stuff, dicey culinary misadventures, blood guts and gore, mild hair obsession, bad fashion choices, the apocalypse, very uncomfortable goat imagery, a high school play……y’know…the whole falafel.

The first thing Lilith has to do when she steps into the mortal realm for the first time in a millennium to carry out Satan’s will is adjust to wearing high heels.

The second thing she has to do is re-learn enough human social graces to befriend the half-witch, half-mortal waif called Sabrina Spellman and her family.

She prefers the heels.

But only by a smidge.

High heels are the Devil’s creation, of this Lilith is absolutely certain—and not just because she looks devastating in them as she does in any of the Devil’s creations. No, she knows for a fact that they are the Devil’s creation because they seem to have been designed for the sole purpose of parading women through absolute agony. And although looking sexy as all Hell while being in excruciating pain is one of Lilith’s more impressive talents, not a day goes by that she doesn’t think maybe they had a good thing going in Eden lounging about barefoot and naked all the time.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Once she’s tottered around on those heels long enough to regain some modicum of the regality befitting of her station, it’s all about re-learning the human social graces. Admittedly, those could still use some work, but she’s got more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, figuring out what in Hell’s name is so exceptional about the half-breed called Sabrina Spellman.

She’s not impressed when she first meets her, that’s for damn sure. Sabrina is stubborn and self-righteous and irksome and it’s all Lilith can do not to drown her and her insufferable school chums in the well outside her house like a basket full of newborn kittens. Having to pretend to be Sabrina’s beloved teacher Miss Mary Wardwell is an exercise in patience that frequently has Lilith on the verge of ripping her own flesh off her bones. But the Dark Lord has assured her that Sabrina is nothing short of precious, and must be protected and guided down the Path of Night no matter the cost—even when Sabrina petulantly refuses to sign the Book of the Beast at her Dark Baptism, choosing instead to scamper back to high school into the arms of her mortal boyfriend like the literal _child_ she is.

Sabrina Spellman isn’t Herald of Hell material. She just isn’t.

But orders are orders, and prophecies are prophecies, and Lilith supposes she’s just going to have to make the most of it here in the mortal realm, surreptitiously spoon-feeding Sabrina a steady diet of evil until the Dark Lord deems her suitable for whatever his grand designs entail.

And Lilith is loyal, Lilith is true. Well. Lilith is loyally and truly dedicated to being crowned Queen of Hell as a reward for her services at the end of this whole misadventure at any rate. So she stays. And is obedient. And remembers her place.

*

She is annoyed to learn that in addition to being stubborn, self-righteous, and irksome, Sabrina Spellman is also sometimes infuriatingly clever. Barely a month has passed since Lilith’s arrival, and already Sabrina has figured out she isn’t a mortal, and Lilith has to scramble to reinvent herself as a sort of unholy anti-Godmother appointed by Sabrina’s late parents to keep her safe. So now, not only does she have to spy on Sabrina from the shadows, she also has to be a mentor, role model, friend, _and_ corrupter of the child’s soul, which is a lot to juggle.

On top of it all, now that she has so rashly invented this tale about being Sabrina’s distant guardian, she has to subject herself to the judgment of Sabrina’s aunts, which is just so…beneath her.

The one called Hilda is relatively easy at least, as she is made of bubbles and sunshine and far too many words. Hour three of knowing her and she’s already talking to her as if they’ve known each other for years.

“I’d love to know what spell you use to get your hair so…” Hilda motions with her hands all around Lilith’s head, “…floofy.”

Lilith briefly considers telling her that the _floof_ comes from having been blown dry with Hellfire, that the volume comes from demonic inner rage heaped with the juiciest of secrets, and the gloss comes from…well it comes from L’Oreal, per the ads Lilith has seen on TV.

“Just born lucky I guess,” she says instead, and Hilda, guileless Hilda, fully believes her, and accepts her as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The other sister is not so easy.

Where Hilda Spellman is made of bubbles, sunshine, and far too many words, Zelda Spellman is made of ice, steel, and an arsenal of very _choice_ words seemingly selected based on their ability to be sharpened into the most devastating of weapons.

“I don’t like you, I don’t trust you, and if you cross me, you will find yourself drowning in a pit of your own entrails,” Zelda tells her, which is a shocking departure from her sister.

It’s also one of the sexiest things Lilith has ever heard anyone say, and she avoids Zelda like the plague for the next several weeks.

*

It’s a difficult line to walk, this helping Sabrina “fight evil” whilst simultaneously endeavoring to convince her to _be_ evil. Demons popping up all willy-nilly and attacking the town of Greendale in various capacities is doing more harm than good, and half the time, Lilith doesn’t even _recognize_ these demons. Where exactly are her _children,_ the ones _she_ made? Hers are _glorious_ in their terribleness, these…things…that keep popping up are nothing of hers and she _hates_ them.

Long story short, Lilith has her arms full, trying to coddle Sabrina with one hand, and manipulate her with the other, trying to act sunny enough to appeal to Hilda, but severe enough not to be cowed by Zelda and her eyes of steel…It’s a tough job, but Lilith holds her own as best she can.

She’s exhausted by the end of each day though, and those high heels she has to force her feet into every morning are _not helping._

_*_

She makes poppets of all the Spellmans, just to be safe. That Ambrose boy is especially crafty, she’ll definitely need a way to subdue him if he catches onto her. Even Hilda has been known to cook the odd interloper into a puff pastry, and Sabrina is unnervingly unpredictable. In the event that all Lilith’s secrets come tumbling out of her, she needs to know that she has some control over the resulting chaos. Despite what she would have most believe, Lilith has control over very little in her life, so what she _does_ control, she controls utterly. And if that means making little dolls of people so she can poke them full of pins to keep herself safe, then so be it.

She takes special care with Zelda’s poppet. With the others, it’s easy to find stray hairs or nails, well-loved clothes and knick-knacks to help build an effective poppet…but Zelda is a fortress. If she loves certain knick-knacks it’s nigh-on impossible to tell which ones, if there is a single article of clothing that brings her comfort, it’s nowhere to be found no matter how many drawers Lilith riffles through, no matter how many satin skirts she runs her fingers along, searching for even the vaguest imprint of sentimentality.

When it finally becomes clear that Zelda makes a habit of not leaving a trace of herself vulnerable to attack, Lilith goes for the grab-the-bull-by-the-horns approach and yanks a strand of strawberry blonde hair right out of Zelda’s scalp while joining the Spellmans for tea one afternoon.

Zelda slaps her hand to her head with a surprised yelp and wheels on Lilith, looking more or less ready to gouge her eyes out with her cigarette holder.

Lilith has already stowed the strand of hair in her breast pocket and is brushing her fingers against the back of the couch as though trying to get something off her. “Beetle in your hair,” she tells her, flicking her gaze up to lock wide, innocent eyes with Zelda’s glacier-cold ones. “Bad luck.”

Zelda stares hard at her, taking a long, silent drag from her cigarette, before finally blowing the smoke directly into Lilith’s face. “How chivalrous of you,” she says without an ounce of fondness, and Lilith’s heart flutters.

One of these days she’s going to need to learn not to be enchanted by people who have all the warmth and social niceties of an icicle.

Judging by her track record, _one of these days_ may not actually exist.

*

Hilda is the aunt Sabrina goes to with all her mortal woes. Lilith can’t help but be a little fascinated by this. Hilda is a full-blown witch, just like Zelda, just like the entire rest of the coven, just like the entire rest of their kind in fact, and yet she has this tender heart that seems to bleed at every word a mortal—or half-mortal—utters. Then again, she is—was—Edward Spellman’s sister. His fondness for mortals must have just rubbed off on her in a way it never did with Zelda.

Consequently, it’s Hilda that Sabrina goes to when times become troubled with her plucky mortal friends, and Hilda’s solution—making margaritas with the child half-witch while dancing in pajamas to a song about limes and coconuts in an odd solute to some film Sabrina enjoys watching on rough nights—is of little interest to either Zelda or Lilith. Lilith isn’t even really sure what she’s doing here at their house, except that Sabrina called her up in distress earlier this evening, and Lilith has been ordered to protect her from _anything_ that means to do her harm.

If she’d known that included protecting her from mortal bruised feelings, she’d have disconnected her phone and gotten herself a good night’s sleep for the first time since stepping foot in this realm.

As it is, neither she nor Zelda are particularly moved to join in the absurd flailing both Sabrina and Hilda have decided to call dancing—even less so when Ambrose saunters down the stairs with the hateful Salem cat to join in. Lilith and Zelda do, however, deign to accept the margaritas the younger three Spellmans bestow upon them, and sit together silently out on the porch swing in the crisp moonlight while the others disappear into some cozy corner of the house to watch horror movies until Sabrina’s tears finally dry up.

Zelda, as it happens, is not delicate when it comes to drinking margaritas made by her family. Every time she nears the last few drops of her drink, she whispers some incantation to fill it back up and continues on drinking. She’s forsaken the straw and now cherry-infused margarita stains her lips red.

Lilith, stealing the very occasional glance at her and missing her straw entirely, doesn’t remember when straws became so difficult to manage. She considers tossing it, but she’s already made such an effort, it seems like cowardice to give up on it now.

“So what do you gain from all this?” Zelda asks abruptly, never taking her eyes from the moon.

And just when Lilith has finally caught the straw between her lips too. She takes an annoyed pull of her drink before responding. “All what?”

“Sabrina is family,” Zelda says, as if that clarifies something. “She belongs to us. I want to know what _you_ gain by lurking in her shadow everywhere she goes.”

“I don’t _lurk,”_ Lilith says stiffly. “I merely…” she pauses for a moment, sifting through the various lies she’s told and making doubly sure she’s telling the right ones. “I’m merely doing what Edward asked of me. I’m the first person he told, you know, when he learned Diana was with child.”

Zelda’s lips lift in a shadow of amusement. “I highly doubt that,” she says, then finally turns her head to look at her. “Tell me something true.”

Lilith blinks in surprise. Zelda is sharp, sharper than Lilith had bargained for. She racks her brain for something true enough to throw Zelda off her trail, but vague enough to keep herself in good standing with the witch. “I’m here because the Dark Lord wills it,” she answers finally.

Zelda searches her eyes for a time, then smiles lazily. “Now _that_ I believe,” she says. “You have that look.”

Lilith balks at that. Balks at the nerve of a witch, with scarcely a couple hundred years under her belt, speaking to her as if she has some sort of _wisdom_ to impart. As if she’s seen more, felt more, understands more of life than Lilith does. Lilith blames Mary Wardwell’s wide eyes for any appearance of greenery.

“And what _look_ is that, exactly?” she asks finally.

“Wanting,” Zelda answers. “Emptiness. Fear. We all have it, of course, that’s what it means to serve the Dark Lord, to wait desperately for him to call on you only to be disappointed time after time when he doesn’t. You just show it more than others.”

Lilith experiences the word _flabbergasted_ for the first time. “I don’t have—fear—want—desperate—disappoint—“ she fumbles, then locks onto the word she hates the most. “I am _not. Empty,”_ she hisses.

Zelda’s expression is coldly pitying and it occurs to Lilith for the first time that Zelda thinks she’s older than Lilith. Truly believes the lie Lilith has spun about being a poor, wayward, excommunicated witch with no family or friends, no desires of her own save to live by the Dark Lord’s word and dedicate herself to protecting Sabrina like a lion with its cub. And yes, this is the picture Lilith painted for her, but she thinks she liked it better when Zelda distrusted her as opposed to pitying her. Lilith doesn’t think there’s a creature alive that desires pity, there’s nothing quite so infantilizing, so degrading, as being pitied.

“The Dark Lord and I are _very_ close,” she snaps, hating that she sounds more petulant than anything else.

“Is that right,” Zelda humors her. “Chat with him often then, do you.”

“Among other things,” Lilith growls.

 _“Other things,”_ Zelda echoes with a patient smile. Figures she wouldn’t believe the one true thing Lilith has actually told her.

And it shouldn’t bother Lilith the way that it does, she should be much more elusive, much more protective of her secrets, but having her relationship with the Dark Lord called into question—and _mocked_ of all things—is a sore spot for Lilith. She’s been his faithful servant longer than anyone, his confidante, his right-hand-woman, his would-be Queen…his _will-be_ Queen once Sabrina has served her purpose. Lilith has worked for far too long, and sacrificed far too much to suffer the ignominy of being doubted by this arrogant, holier-than-thou witch.

“Well I’ve been fucking him since I was hardly older than your niece, it’s hard to feel _empty_ after all that,” she snaps before she can stop herself, and the angry, prideful fire burning in the core of her soul must have leapt into her eyes somehow because Zelda actually tilts her head in surprised belief.

 _Finally_ something other than that steely ice sculpture stare.

Zelda looks her over, perhaps shocked into silence, seeming to be assessing her in a new light. Then she sighs and takes a sip of her margarita, eyes never leaving Lilith’s face, not until she’s finished off what remains and sets the glass aside.

“When I was young,” she says finally, voice uncharacteristically soft, and Lilith reluctantly finds herself drawn in, “I used to dream he’d come to me. That he’d fill me up, complete me.” She turns her face back to the moon with a deep exhale. “I envy you.”

“Well envy is a virtue, I’m sure the Dark Lord is flattered.”

Zelda huffs out some hint of a laugh, something easing in the air between them. “I hope so,” she says.She smiles in a suppressed, Zelda-like way, and tilts her head up, looking at the sky like she’s reliving some fond memory. “You know, when I was thirteen, a friend of mine told me if I kissed a goat, it would catch the Dark Lord’s attention and he’d know I desired him,” she says at last, a twinkle in her eye.

Lilith actually lets loose a full-blown cackle, taking herself by surprise because that’s not a sound she’s used to making. “And did you do it?” she asks.

“I kissed at least ten before one finally head-butted me and nearly broke my nose,” Zelda tells her, the corner of her mouth twisting into a smile, and Lilith cackles again. “The things children come up with. It was a good wake-up call. I never did it again.”

Lilith is still laughing, and Zelda turns to her, leaning her elbow on the back of the porch swing, her cheek resting on her knuckles, a slow smile gracing her features. Lilith has never seen her look so relaxed, and yes, it’s probably because she’s on margarita refill number eight, but it’s an interesting revelation that Zelda is actually capable of softening. Something to keep in mind for when Lilith inevitably has to destroy her.

It’s a little hard to imagine destroying her when she looks like this, moonlight dancing in her hair, lips stained cherry-margarita-red…but Lilith is loyal and Lilith is true, and Lilith knows her place, and her place is to discard of any unnecessary witches should they get in the way of her guiding Sabrina along…

Her thoughts are cut off abruptly when Zelda lifts a hand to stroke her fingers along the dark outer waves of Lilith’s hair. It’s not quite a fond gesture, and that _assessing_ look is back in Zelda’s eyes, like she’s trying to figure her out, but it does stop Lilith from finishing a coherent thought for a moment.

“I suppose I can see why the Dark Lord would choose you,” Zelda says, fingers twining idly in the ends of her hair. It isn’t exactly a compliment, but it isn’t exactly _not_ a compliment, and the way she’s playing with her hair isn’t exactly affectionate, but it isn’t exactly _not_ affectionate, and Lilith isn’t really sure what to say.

Luckily she’s saved from having to scramble for words when Zelda continues all on her own. “Tell me what it’s like,” she says. “Being with him. I’d imagine it’s…well, for lack of a better word, divine.”

Truth be told, getting fucked by a hairy Hell-beast with nine-inch claws and the head of a drooling billy goat isn’t nearly as sexy as Lilith would like it to be. Not that it isn’t an honor, of course.

And Lilith would never say this out loud—she can barely even admit it to _herself_ —but at best, it’s a smelly, messy affair, and at worst…at worst, it can be painful, it can be degrading, it can even be soul-wrenching, especially when twisted up with the bitter memory of how things used to be.

But an honor, of course. Always an honor.

So, “Yes, divine,” Lilith confirms with what she hopes is a winsome smile, just in case anyone is watching.

Comfortable silence descends upon them after that, and Lilith is struck with the notion that this is the first real conversation she’s had with someone who isn’t a Hell-beast or an irksome child in millennia.

It’s sort of nice.

*

She almost immediately regrets having told Zelda about her trysts with the Dark Lord after that. It’s all the witch talks about now.

Granted it’s nice not to be on the receiving end of Zelda’s vitriol anymore, but her pride does take a hit at the fact that once again, she’s coming in second to Lucifer Morningstar. That’s all she’s worth, even still. Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer, that’s all Zelda says, that’s all anyone says. Lilith wonders if anyone will even _notice_ once she’s been crowned Queen of Hell, or if it will all just be more of the same. Not Queen Lilith, just Madam Satan. Always.

She blames it on this bitter envy—one of Satan’s favorite virtues, _especially_ when aimed in his direction—for the way she starts thinking just a little obsessively about Zelda Spellman. It’s because Zelda’s brought about this ugly thought, this horrible ugly thought that a title as Queen of Hell will be ultimately meaningless, and Lilith wants to matter to _someone,_ even if it’s just to this _one_ witch who’s almost too perfect and devout to stand. What can Lilith do to gain that kind of devotion? What is she doing wrong?

She isn’t proud of this, but she spends an awful lot of time in Zelda’s room when the Spellmans are away, trying to figure her out, looking through her things, touching them, memorizing them. Smelling them a bit. Stroking them somewhat. Zelda is pristine, flawless, there isn’t a single thing out of place in her world. You’d hardly know she worships anything that isn’t her own self.

Lilith tries to go for that look too, in case that’s the sort of thing that would catch Zelda’s interest, but she feels wrecked at the end of each day, too wrecked to be flawless. She’s not pristine, she just wears red all the time so the various blood stains and splatters won’t show up on her dresses. She never feels up to the task of throwing out the previous night’s delivery-boy remains, so her cottage is starting to look and smell like an ill-kept slaughterhouse, and she keeps tripping over her Satan-forsaken high heels. Everything around her is messy, it’s always messy. She would like to think she makes messy look good, but she’s not even sure of that anymore.

It gets to the point that she starts using the Spellmans’ house as a means of escaping the rotting gloom of her own cottage. It isn’t the most ideal refuge. Hilda chatters about cooking and curses, Sabrina fluctuates between being petulant and being charming, Ambrose is always up to necromancy and astral projecting, the cat keeps hissing at her, and Zelda smokes, reads the paper, and makes cold judgments. And when she isn’t doing those things, she’s praising Satan, and Lilith is sick of it.

“You sound like a lovesick schoolgirl when you talk about him, you know,” she tells Zelda grumpily one evening. She isn’t sure when exactly she fell into the habit of coming around for drinks on the porch swing with Zelda after dinner every night, but here she is. “It’s embarrassing.”

Zelda has that infuriating distantly amused look on her face. “Can you blame me for wanting to be as close to the Dark Lord as possible?” she asks, and it’s almost a taunt.

“I can blame you for wanting to fuck a goat,” Lilith grumbles before she can stop herself.

 _Instant_ regret at those words. She makes a mental note to dig out the scissors and cut her tongue out when she gets home later tonight.

 _Home._ When did she start thinking of Mary Wardwell’s cottage as _home?_

Probably about the same time she started coming around for drinks with Zelda every night after dinner.

Zelda is actually laughing, though. Well it’s more of a quiet chuckle, but it’s quite a tremendous sound to hear coming from the equivalent of a walking ice sculpture.

“Are you feeling territorial, Miss Wardwell?” Zelda asks. “Threatened, maybe?”

The notion, the absurdity of the situation, suddenly comes crashing in on Lilith, and she shakes her head with a slow grin. It seems funny suddenly. Sort of a bad kind of funny, but funny nonetheless.

“Never threatened, not for a moment,” she says. “What’s mine is yours.” A ridiculous idea occurs to her. “Besides, if you’re so Heaven-bent on it, you could always fuck the Dark Lord by proxy,” she suggests with a wicked laugh, then gestures theatrically at herself and mouths, _“Me,”_ as if it’s some delightful cosmic joke. As if _she’s_ some delightful cosmic joke.

The last thing she expects is for Zelda to arch one severe eyebrow up like she’s actually considering the image of herself and Lilith, like she deems it a crude, unwelcome, _offensive_ suggestion, before sliding forward to take Lilith’s chin none-too-gently in her hand.

“Let me make something very clear to you,” Zelda says, slowly and deliberately, as if she’s dealing with an unruly child. “There is very little in this world that I wouldn’t do to be as close to the Dark Lord as possible, but I’m no beggar. I’m worth more than just the Dark Lord’s sloppy seconds.”

All traces of humor Lilith had been enjoying evaporate in an instant at Zelda’s words, and her temper flares to life, heightened by the fact that Zelda’s fingers on her chin are bordering on bruising, and Zelda’s face is mere inches from hers, and she smells so very alluringly of cherries and herbs and smoke.

“And I’m worth more than a pathetically pious witch,” Lilith returns with a hiss, “whose closest encounter with the Dark Lord is a sordid affair with a laughably zealous high priest who thinks flagellation is anything less than an embarrassing attempt to hide his own weakn—”

Zelda claps her hand over Lilith’s mouth to silence her, grip hard as iron. “One more word, and I’ll slap you,” she warns quietly.

The most ill-timed rush of arousal in the history of the world twists deep in Lilith’s core and she’s mortified to learn that there’s a part of her, way down deep in the bottom of her soul, that desperately wants Zelda to do just that—just abandon all pretense of flawlessness and slap her as hard as she can.

She settles for the feeling of Zelda’s hand clamped over her mouth, and the way Zelda is pinning her in place with those steely eyes of hers, and holds her gaze challengingly, motionlessly, drawing breath as best she can through her nose where Zelda isn’t _quite_ smothering her, not bothering to hide the wanton glint in her eye. If Zelda were to slap her now, it would be a surrender of sorts, and as much as Lilith finds herself unexpectedly craving the sharp sting of flesh on flesh, she knows that Zelda, perfect Zelda, would never stoop so low.

It feels like an eternity before Zelda finally releases her and retires to the house with a slam of the porch door, and Lilith gasps in a grateful gulp of air. But with air and freedom comes the loss of Zelda’s touch, and Lilith, angry and shaken, would do just about anything to have Zelda’s hands on her again.

*

It grates on her to no end that Zelda is more than willing to use Faustus Blackwood of all people as a go-between for the Dark Lord, but not her. Faustus Blackwood shouldn’t even _count_ as a go-between, he’s hardly more than a simpering zealot, it’s not like he has any _meaningful_ connection to Satan, not like Lilith does. If it’s a taste of Hell Zelda wants, Lilith is the best thing she’s ever going to get, short of the Dark Lord himself.

Lilith has the sudden unwanted image of Zelda tangled up in the Dark Lord and feels a horrible, wrenching split of jealousy, because it’s not Zelda she’s jealous of, it’s Lucifer. _She_ wants to be the one tangled up with Zelda, not anyone else, not even the Dark Lord.

What an ugly thought.

She reminds herself that that’s _all_ it is, just a thought, and that it comes from nothing more than the desire to _matter_ to someone, especially someone who sees her as something so low. It’s not about Zelda, it’s about her. Zelda’s just the nearest outlet.

With that in mind, she goes about trying to clear the bad blood between them, because she needs Zelda on her side if she wants to maintain her place as Sabrina’s anti-Godmother. So she invites herself over a few days after their altercation, bearing an elegant tray of baked goats’ feet.

Zelda stares at the goats’ feet for some time before leveling her gaze back up to Lilith with one eyebrow arched. “Is this supposed to be a joke?” she asks.

“An apology,” Lilith corrects. “But yes, also a joke.”

She waits on pins and needles for a reaction from Zelda, letting out a breath of relief when the witch finally purses her lips in vague amusement and opens the door wide enough to allow Lilith entry.

And if Lilith’s heart soars just a bit at being back in Zelda’s good graces, it’s only because it’s to her benefit not to be caught on the outside.

*

It’s a relief when all her hard work and manipulation pays off and Sabrina _finally_ signs the Book of the Beast the way Satan intended. Even more of a relief when Lady Blackwood kicks the bucket and Zelda and Faustus Blackwood have to take a break from their sordid affair to allow for an acceptable mourning period. It’s only for appearances, but Lilith takes the win.

Slightly less of a relief is the fact that since succeeding in getting Sabrina to sign the Book of the Beast, Lilith hasn’t heard a word from the Dark Lord. No one has come to bring her news, no one has come to escort her back to the pit where she belongs.

Lilith does her best not to panic, focusing instead on perfecting her role of Sabrina’s anti-Godmother.

Zelda is appropriately ecstatic that Sabrina is finally accepting her heritage as a witch and gives Hilda the go-ahead to throw her a celebratory post-Baptism bash. More than that, she seems to actually _enjoy_ herself at said bash, basking in the glow of her niece’s decision, mingling with their coven guests, even tolerating the dancing youths Sabrina has already befriended at the Academy of Unseen Arts.

Lilith joins Zelda in the kitchen with an extra margarita as the Witching Hour approaches. Cherry-flavored, of course. She’s had more to drink than she intended, forgetting how easy it is for a human body to become intoxicated, and sloshes a bit on her dress before delivering it into Zelda’s hand.

“Magnificent soiree you’ve thrown,” she proclaims loudly. “You must be so proud of your niece.”

“Well it’s thanks in no small part to you, Miss Wardwell,” Zelda says.

It takes Lilith just a moment too long to remember that _Miss Wardwell_ is her assumed identity these days, and she’s correcting Zelda before her brain has time to catch up.

“Please call me Lilith,” she says.

Suspicion stalks dangerously across Zelda’s features. “I thought it was Mary?” she says sharply. “Mary Wardwell?”

Lilith chokes on her drink. “Yes—Lil—Mar—no, it’s—yes, Mary is my given name,” she stumbles out. “Lilith is—my Dark Baptismal name, the name—the name I chose for my Dark Baptism. I use it—I prefer it—to use it—you know, among…friends.”

Zelda regards her for a long time, then gives that pursed, suppressed smile of hers. “Oh, is that what we are? Friends?”

“Well, we’re not blood enemies anymore, at least.”

Zelda clinks their glasses subtly together. “Cheers to that,” she says lowly. Then she turns to the room at large, and yells, “And cheers to Sabrina!”

“Cheers to Sabrina!” the few that hear her echo. “And praise Satan!”

“Praise Satan!” Zelda echoes grandly.

“Yes, yes, praise Satan,” Lilith mutters quite a bit less enthusiastically and tosses back the rest of her drink. Then she grabs Zelda’s hand and pulls her toward the living room. “Now come dance with me.”

*

The following morning, Lilith wakes up to nauseating pain and Zelda sitting on the edge of her bed.

Lilith squirms upright in disoriented surprise, demanding, “What do you think you’re doing here?” quickly followed by, “Oh god, my _head.”_

“I live here, Lilith, you’re in _my_ house,” Zelda answers patiently, and hands her a glass filled to the brim with something thick and gray and bubbling. “Drink this, it’ll help.”

“It’ll help me die, you mean, what is that smell?”

“It’s Hilda’s hangover cure. Best you not know what’s in it. Just drink.”

Lilith obeys, and promptly gags, because there are more than a few maggots in there.

“Dear Satan in Hell,” she mutters, dropping her clammy forehead into her hand. Once she’s steadied herself, she looks up at Zelda through her mass of dark hair. “What happened last night?”

“Well, let’s see,” Zelda says, brushing a wayward lock out of Lilith’s face before clasping her fingers around her knee. “You began the evening by downing six margaritas in a row, then started a conga line, took off your shoes and threw them at a crow for some reason, engaged in a drinking contest with an underaged warlock, _lost_ said drinking contest to the underaged warlock _,_ and tried to kiss me.”

“Oh.”

Lilith wonders how well that went over. It’s been some time…Trying to kiss Satan’s drooling goat mouth is about as appealing as it sounds, and consequently, Lilith hasn’t really _kissed_ anyone in…too long. Far too long. Hard to say if she’s much good at it anymore.

No, _no,_ that’s not the right attitude. She is _Madam Satan_ for Lucifer’s sake, of _course_ she’s still a phenomenal kisser. She is the original sultry sinner, the wanton woman who refused to lie beneath Adam, the she-demon who rose up as Satan’s Concubine. She oozes sensuality with every step she takes, seduces the most abstinent hearts with barely a glance, is the _epitome_ of sexuality, the walking talking definition of Hot as Hell…

She leans over the side of the bed and vomits her insides out.

Zelda pats her back gently and takes the glass from her hand. “I’ll get Hilda to whip up another batch,” she says.

*

Much later, once Lilith has taken a shower, brushed her teeth, and relocated her missing equilibrium, she makes her way stiffly downstairs with as much dignity as she can muster.

“Where is everyone?” she asks Zelda, sliding into one of the chairs around the dining room table.

“Sabrina’s at school,” Zelda says without looking up from her newspaper. “And Hilda and Ambrose are down in the embalming room with a fresh corpse. Of course when I say ‘fresh’…” She finally lifts her gaze to give Lilith an unreadable once-over. “How are you feeling?”

“Slightly fresher than a corpse,” Lilith says with a lazy smile. “But not by much.”

“Well you look better than this morning at any rate, I doubt we’ll need to embalm you.”

“Aren’t you sweet,” Lilith says. She sighs and adds off-handedly, “All joking aside, if I do happen to drop dead, I’d prefer you set my corpse on fire. I think it might be my best chance of getting into Hell.”

“I’ll keep a match handy for you,” Zelda assures her without missing a beat or questioning the strangeness of the request, and Lilith isn’t sure if this is friendly banter, sexy banter, or if Zelda really is just prepared to light her body on fire should the occasion arise.

Lilith drums her fingers against the tabletop, uncertain how to proceed if this is banter after all, and not just a morbid but welcome promise. “So,” she says conversationally. “You said I tried to kiss you last night.”

“You tried,” Zelda confirms, and returns to her newspaper.

Lilith watches her for a moment. “And?” she prompts when nothing else follows.

“And I had better things to do.”

Lilith’s eyebrows shoot upward. “What does _that_ mean?”

Zelda looks up from her newspaper with nothing short of pure exasperation. “It means I had to drag you to the upstairs guest room and put you to bed like an _infant_ because you can’t hold your liquor to save your life.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Lilith says, doing her best not to be insulted. “What _better things_ did you have to be doing?”

Zelda rolls her eyes and gets to her feet without answering, going over to the counter for another cup of tea.

Lilith follows her. She may be wearing yesterday’s dress and nursing the remnants of a hangover, but that doesn’t change the fact that she is _Madam Satan,_ as devastatingly irresistible as ever, and there is _no reason_ why she should continue to be rejected and looked down upon by this ice sculpture masquerading as a witch.

“Zelda,” she repeats, annoyance spiking. “What _better things_ did you have to be doing?”

“Lilith, please,” Zelda huffs, matching her annoyance, surpassing it, like Lilith is a child, a nuisance, a gnat buzzing around her head.

“Not Faustus, I hope,” Lilith presses angrily. “I can barely stomach the idea of you fawning over that sycophant, especially after all that business with his children…”

“Lilith, your jealousy is just as ugly as ever,” Zelda snaps, and Lilith jerks her head back in surprise, in genuine, shocked offense. Zelda takes an aggressive step forward, and Lilith actually backs up a pace.

“And it makes me wonder, what reason do you even _have_ for all that jealousy, all that neediness?” Zelda continues. “You already have everything else of mine, my niece’s admiration, my sister’s affection, the Dark Lord’s adoration…”

Lilith tries _very_ hard not to laugh at that one.

“Father Blackwood can lift me up above my station,” Zelda continues firmly. “The closer I am to him, the closer I am to the Dark Lord, the closer I am to having done _one_ thing right for my family, _one_ thing.”

 _“Father Blackwood_ can’t lift you above your station, he couldn’t lift a crow into the air,” Lilith snaps back. “I can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually _met_ the Dark Lord, you’re talking about him like he’s the anti-Savior.”

“He may as well be,” Zelda says rigidly. “I’m barely holding this family together, barely keeping the Spellman name from being dragged through the mud. Sabrina is committing random acts of heresy, Hilda’s been excommunicated, Ambrose is wallowing in exile… _someone_ in this family has to keep us all afloat, and that person, as always, is me. Faustus is my lifeline, he’s—“

“Faustus is incapable of seeing anything past his own nose, you really think he’ll have any interest in helping restore your family name?”

“If I play my cards right, I won’t _have_ to restore my family name, because I’ll have _his_ name.”

Lilith stares at her in shocked disbelief. “Well that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” she says once she’s recovered her ability to put words together.

“Snark all you want. The wayward, lone wolf lifestyle works for you, Lilith, but that’s because you aren’t actually bound to anyone, not even Sabrina, not really. You have the freedom to walk away from an unpleasant situation. Not all of us are that lucky.”

This time, Lilith practically has to bite her own tongue straight off in order to keep from laughing. “You know nothing about me,” she manages through a horrible grin.

“For the best, it seems,” Zelda says.

“You truly think that playing housewife to that halfwit will somehow endear you to the Dark Lord?” Lilith presses. “Make you more pious, more worthy, as if any of that matters to him…”

“Lilith don’t pretend to know things you don’t, it’s annoying,” Zelda huffs.

“I _do_ know them—“

“You _don’t_ know them, you’re just acting out, like a _child,_ scrambling after my attention for Satan only _knows_ what reason—“

“Much like you’re _scrambling after_ the Dark Lord’s attention by pretending to be this subservient _object—“_

“Why exactly are you so concerned with the ways in which I prove myself to the Dark Lord?” Zelda interrupts, her temper finally boiling over, searing away the ice in her gaze to make room for an almost righteous anger. “And why in Hell’s name are you so convinced you should have any say in the matter whatsoever? Why are you acting as if I should be enamored with you simply because you claim to have served time as the Dark Lord’s plaything for what, a century or two?”

“Because—!”

 _Because I want to matter. Because I want to be loved, I want to be hated, I want to be someone’s Only, their Only love, their Only hate, their Only dream, their Only nightmare, I don’t care what it is, I just want to matter, and I want to matter to_ you, _I want to matter so much that you lose that perfectly-constructed sense of self-control and give in to what’s most raw in you and do whatever you want to me, I want you to hit me, to hurt me, to be kind to me, to love me, I don’t care what, just as long as it shakes you to your core, gives you something you only get when you’re with me, something you can never get from anyone else, so that when all is said and done and I remain just as cast aside as ever, there will be_ one _person,_ one _person in the whole world who won’t forget me, who won’t be able to burn the memory of me out of them, not even in the hottest flames of Hell…_

Of course, Lilith doesn’t say any of that. Lilith will deny ever even _thinking_ it later on.

“Because I don’t believe you’re brave enough to do what it actually takes to prove your worth to the Dark Lord,” she says instead.

Zelda’s eyes narrow, and they’re made of ice again. “You don’t think I’m _brave_ enough…to do _what_ exactly?” she growls.

“Brave enough to actually take something you want for once.”

Zelda barks out a laugh. “Who says I want you?”

“Not just me, _anything_ that belongs to the Dark Lord,” Lilith says, and Zelda’s eyes narrow further at that. “You’re too much of a coward to take anything that belongs to him, be it power, freedom…even me, his _sloppy seconds_ , as you so eloquently put it before. Worship is about greed and it’s about envy, Zelda, not just submission. You can’t possibly worship the Dark Lord without wanting what he has. But you’re too much of a coward to take it.” She takes a step in to her. “Now I’m giving you this one chance to take something that’s his, to experience worship through sin, exactly the way he intended. Are you really going to pass up on that chance?”

In a few hours, Lilith will tell herself it’s a victory won through masterful manipulation when Zelda buries her fingers in her hair and yanks her into the angriest kiss she’s ever experienced.

But in the moment, while surprise has her grasping desperately at honesty, it’s not a victory at all, it’s a surrender. Zelda’s fingers in her hair pull just hard enough to send shivers racing down her spine, the leg pushed between her thighs sends heat coursing through her veins, and Zelda’s mouth on hers…well, Lilith is reminded for the first time in years how good it feels to just be _kissed._ Especially with the way Zelda does it—more forceful than Lilith would have imagined, possessive, almost punishing—like Lilith’s taunts really got to her, like she’s trying to prove just how unafraid she is to take something that isn’t hers.

Lilith isn’t hers.

Lilith _could_ be hers.

Lilith _wants_ to be hers.

No she doesn’t, she just wants to be wanted, that’s all. She wants to be taken, to be stolen away, to be someone’s shameful secret—to be _Zelda’s_ shameful secret.

And if Zelda is ashamed of her, she has the most delicious way of showing it. She’s spun Lilith around so she can bend her over the counter, one hand twisting in her mass of hair and pulling her head back so she can mark up the side of her neck with lips, teeth, and tongue. Lilith braces her hands against the edge of the counter, biting down on her lower lip as Zelda’s free hand begins dragging her skirt up her thigh.

A burst of raucous laughter from the basement makes them both freeze—Hilda and Ambrose are having quite a time in the embalming room it sounds like, who knew preserving corpses could be so much fun?

Before Lilith can say anything, Zelda is already slipping her hand down her arm and grabbing her wrist, pulling her along upstairs where it will be easier to hide this particular secret, this particular flaw, this particular lapse in her judgment. Lilith feels smug knowing that she’s a good enough secret that Zelda wants to keep going, wants to keep _her._

She’s spilled back onto Zelda’s perfectly-made, perfectly-clean bed almost the second the door shuts behind them, and Zelda wastes no time in hiking up her skirt and straddling her, peeling herself out of her blouse so she’s down to just skirt and bra.

Maybe it’s just because this is all new, but something seems to shift in Zelda’s demeanor as she moves atop her, like the wind rising before a storm. Her movements slow, becoming more fluid, but more controlled, more intense, every grind of her hips and stroke of her fingers nothing short of hypnotic. She takes her time, one hand pressing down on Lilith’s sternum, pushing hard against her so she can’t get away—as if Lilith would want to be anywhere but here right now.

She’s striking from this angle, staring down at Lilith with eyes pinning her like daggers to the mattress, looking like a goddess come down to demand worship, not just a witch baited into fucking Satan’s concubine.

An odd revelation skitters into Lilith’s consciousness as Zelda’s hand moves from her chest to her throat, one that very nearly makes her laugh.

In the beginning, Adam told Lilith to lie submissively beneath him, and Lilith told Adam to get fucked.

Figures a couple thousand years later she’s lying submissively beneath Zelda Spellman and really rather enjoying the whole thing.

It’s funny, it really is, until Zelda’s fingers move inside her just right and every thought in Lilith’s head goes flying out the window.

*

When Lilith’s senses finally return to her some seconds or minutes or lifetimes later and she remembers at least most of her own name, it’s like the world has shifted somehow. She feels like she’s died and gone to…well, not Heaven obviously. Not Hell either. Definitely not purgatory. She feels _good_ is the point, she feels sated in a way she hasn’t for a long time, her entire body thrumming with the dizzying afterglow of sensory overload. She’s practically trembling, her hair is a mess—Zelda’s _bed_ is a mess.

Zelda’s bed is a mess.

Zelda herself is…not a mess. Not enough of one. That sated feeling rolls away from Lilith at the sight of Zelda and her unmarred face, half-dressed but too classy about it, hair only mildly tousled, and Lilith is left feeling empty again, like there’s no way she’ll be satisfied unless Zelda looks as messy as Lilith feels.

She rallies enough strength to sit up and push Zelda over, and Zelda lets her, actually complies with her for once. She still has that superior look though, eyes steely as ever, and Lilith still mostly feels made of mush at this point. She has no idea how someone so cold can set her every nerve on fire, but part of her is reluctantly starting to like it.

She sinks down to her knees on the floor, and Zelda’s eyebrows quirk up, like this is the last position she ever expect to see Lilith in. Lilith waits on pins and needles—always on pins and needles—for Zelda to inch out of her skirt and scoot forward, to drape her legs over her shoulders, crossing her ankles at her back and pulling her in. _Now_ Lilith can really get what she started out looking for, erase every sharp line of flawlessness with her tongue, get her to move, get her to gasp, to shudder. She practically purrs at the feeling of Zelda’s fingers buried in her hair, tugging and mussing, nails raking at her scalp as she licks into her. She lets herself get lost in the feeling of being needed, even if it’s just a temporary need, a quick fix. Lilith will keep working her, as long she needs to, get her hooked, get her thinking about her every second of every day. Then maybe all this effort she’s spent trying to become Queen of Hell will be worth it. All worth it to have Zelda cursing at her under her breath, tugging at her hair, pulling her in deeper, getting less and less perfect with each passing second.

She comes with a sharp gasp and Lilith looks up just in time to see her bite down hard on her lip to keep from making a sound before dropping her head back and panting through the aftershocks.

After a long moment, she lifts her head and unhooks her legs from over Lilith’s shoulders, ice slowly returning to eyes that had ever so briefly been warm, hazy, without focus. You’d hardly know it now. Already her breathing is becoming more controlled, the flush of her skin fading back to white, and she’s tucking her hair back, composing herself, all those shattered pieces of herself flying back into perfect formation so you’d never know anything had ever happened.

She hasn’t completely closed herself off, though. Cold as her gaze is on Lilith, she does reach forward, cupping Lilith’s cheek and running the pad of her thumb over Lilith’s lower lip. She seems to consider things for a moment, then her fingers are back in Lilith’s hair, gently this time, and she guides her up so she can kiss her clean. When she’s satisfied, she stands, helping Lilith up, and walks her wordlessly to the door.

She stops her when they reach the threshold, and turns her so they’re eye to eye. She combs her fingers through Lilith’s hair, _almost_ affectionately, but mostly like she’s fixing her. Like Lilith needs to be fixed.

Lilith doesn’t need to be fixed.

Lilith is just fine, thank you. Spectacular, really.

But she supposes this feels alright. At least it’s gentle.

Zelda stops after a moment, hand cradling Lilith’s face, her thumb brushing over her cheekbone. Lilith wonders for a second if she might kiss her, but Zelda speaks instead, and there’s barely any emotion to be heard when she tells Lilith, “This never happened.”

And Lilith smiles, because Zelda’s already ashamed of her, already silencing her, already denying her, which means something has shaken loose. She may not be shaken to the core just yet, but she’s not as stable as she was before, not as much of a fortress. There are cracks in her armor now, cracks Lilith put there, and Zelda knows it.

So Lilith nods, silently and still smiling, and leaves.

She laughs later—laughs hard and full—when she does something she hasn’t done in quite some time, and looks through her mirror into the mirror of Zelda’s bedroom. Zelda is in bed, reading a paper and smoking, and Hilda is in the bed next to her, trying to make conversation.

“I see Miss Wardwell survived the hangover,” the younger Spellman sister says. “Left in one piece, I’m assuming?”

“Left in one piece,” Zelda confirms. “For good, hopefully, you know how much I love having to babysit a lightweight.”

“She was a bit of handful last night, wasn’t she.”

“Mm. This morning, too. I think I’ve had enough of her to last me the rest of my life.”

“Oh come on, she’s not as bad as all that,” Hilda says.

“She is. Trust me, she is.”

“Alright, she’s a little bad,” Hilda concedes.

“She’s annoying is what she is. And spoiled.”

“A little spoiled.”

“Childish.”

“Maybe a bit.”

“Selfish.”

“And maybe just a _teensy_ bit know-it-all when it comes to our Sabrina,” Hilda dares herself to say, maybe the first slightly-less-than-kind thing Lilith has ever heard her try out. She looks thoughtful, then adds, “She’s got great hair, though. It’s like a lion’s mane. Almost makes you want to bury you fingers right in and give it a good zhush, doesn’t it.”

Zelda blows out a slow, steady stream of smoke and stares disinterestedly at the mirror, almost like she can see Lilith watching her. “No,” she says, and Lilith laughs.

*

In a shocking twist to absolutely no one, Zelda’s attempt to deny Lilith’s existence is a complete failure. By the end of the week, she’s already got Lilith pinned against the wall, one hand up her skirt, the other clamped over Lilith’s mouth to keep her quiet.

Lilith lives for this. Every time Zelda silences her or reprimands her, every time she shoves her down like she means nothing, it just confirms more and more that Lilith means _everything._ Why keep a dirty secret if you don’t secretly love it? The more secret, the better. Zelda fucks her in near silence, with complete control. Only the sound of her breathing, ragged and hot and wanting against Lilith’s skin can be heard, and it’s sexier than it has any right to be. Lilith has always indulged in louder, unabashed, ostentatious displays when it comes to sex, this is somehow endlessly better, knowing what it’s doing to Zelda.

And it’s all for Lilith’s ego. It’s all about the conquest, the knowledge that someone wants her and needs her and hates her for wanting her and needing her.

She doesn’t show up for drinks after dinner for quite some time, thinking it counter-productive to engage with Zelda in a _friendly_ manner after all that. Needless to say, she’s taken completely off-guard when Zelda confronts her after two weeks and demands an explanation as to why she never comes over anymore.

Lilith considers pointing out that she _comes over_ all the time, but Zelda actually looks irritated with her. So she apologizes, because she’s too confused to know what else to do, and shows up after dinner that very night. Then she does it again the next night, and the night after.

Never once do they make even the most glancing mention of their other encounters earlier in the day. It’s like the Lilith and Zelda of the secret daytime trysts are completely different people from the Lilith and Zelda of the nighttime drinking on the porch.

It occurs to Lilith that Zelda has neatly compartmentalized this other version of herself away so that it’s like she doesn’t even exist.

Things get much less fun when she realizes that.

They get even worse when Faustus Blackwood rears his ugly head again.

*

It’s no secret that Lilith has the same amount of fondness for Faustus Blackwood that she would a rotting, maggot-infested corpse, but it isn’t until she’s forced to watch his ham-handed morality play _The Passions of Lucifer Morningstar_ put on by the students of the Academy of Unseen Arts that she realizes she truly despises him. Because there it is, the clumsy, awkward rendition of her own history put on hideous display, turned into a melodrama for children to play-act to, as if they could possibly have any real understanding of what life was like for her and the newly-fallen Dark Lord.

The fact that Sabrina of all people is cast to play _her,_ to play _Lilith,_ not even knowing Lilith herself is hidden in plain sight right there in the audience as her beloved Baxter High teacher Miss Wardwell is an extra slap to the face. She hates to think she was ever as young as Sabrina, ever that green and soft, ever so childish. Surely she was never like that.

The whole thing is enough to turn her stomach, and she makes a quick exit out of the auditorium before Sabrina can see her so she doesn’t have to plaster a woefully false smile on her face and pretend she’s proud of her for reciting words written by an ignoramus who hasn’t the slightest idea…

She leans back on the wall outside with a deep inhale, glad for ice cold night air in her lungs to slice some sense back into her. There’s something ugly and wet on her cheeks that shouldn’t be there, tears that somehow found their way out of her eyes, and she wipes them briskly away. Tears are for showing appropriate fear in the face of disappointing the Dark Lord, not bemoaning the obscene scenery-chewing she just witnessed.

She adjusts herself at the sound of the door opening behind her, and straightens back in surprise when Zelda saunters through to join her, a lit cigarette pinched between the vise of her very peculiar cigarette holder.

“I take it you weren’t a fan,” Zelda says after regarding her for a moment, face placid despite the bite to her tone. The audience is still applauding inside, Lilith can hear it and it’s like sandpaper scraping against her raw nerves.

“It’s never been a favorite story of mine,” Lilith replies truthfully, keeping her own tone as carelessly breezy as she can manage. “And the production value of this version leaves something to be desired.”

Zelda looks very faintly amused. “You realize you’re speaking to the director right now, Miss Wardwell,” she says.

Lilith has gotten better about not flinching when Sabrina calls her Miss Wardwell, but it’s been a long time since Zelda has called her that.

She doesn’t like it.

She was also unaware until this moment that Zelda is the one who brought that lump of codswallop Father Blackwell calls a play to fruition, and now that she knows it, she has a new target to aim her temper at.

“Then you’re the perfect ear for me to air my grievances to,” she says, stepping forward. “Some notes for next year, as I’m sure there will be a repeat performance of the same old tired tale next winter, just as there _always_ is…my advice: lose the longing gazes, the soppy submission, the tawdry romance—in fact, why not cut the character of Lilith entirely, it will be much easier to stomach that way, I can’t imagine a less appealing character…”

“You’ll remember that my niece—your _charge_ —just played the role of Lilith,” Zelda interrupts, and there is a brewing storm behind her eyes, a fire that only comes out when she’s protecting her family, or cursing out Lilith. Both at once, this time around. It’s almost enough to make Lilith lose her grip on her ire.

Almost.

“Your point?” she asks sharply.

Zelda takes a dangerous step toward her, gesturing with her cigarette holder. “For whatever Satan-forsaken reason, Sabrina is enamored with you, Lilith, she values your opinion above that of Hilda, myself, even Father Blackwood.”

“Perish the thought,” Lilith drawls, rolling her eyes.

“That girl has been through enough trauma in the last few months to last her a lifetime,” Zelda continues. “At the very least a century or two. But she was happy tonight. Happy putting on a play with her schoolmates, happy getting to kiss that pretty-boy warlock she never shuts up about, happy to be a child. If you take that from her, if you spoil her happiness with whatever… _this…_ is,” she punctuates the word _this_ with a sharp jab of her cigarette in Lilith’s direction, “I will personally banish you to the farthest reaches of Hell, and I promise you, you will not like what you find there.”

Lilith feels her lips curl into a very unpleasant grin, and she steps in threateningly close. “You’d be surprised,” she hisses.

Zelda holds her glare for a long moment, chin lifted in that fierce pride Lilith can occasionally admit she’s mildly excited by. Though not in this particular moment, to be sure.

Then Zelda exhales slowly, that haughty look fading and shifting subtly into something more careful. If still irritated. Her eyes become more appraising and she leans back just a bit as if she needs to take Lilith in more critically.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” she says. “What’s bothering you so much that you have to throw a tantrum at a high school play?” There’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it change to her face, her tone, a wary letting down of her guard. On another person, it’d hardly be noticeable, but on Zelda…unless Lilith’s eyes are playing tricks on her, she’d almost call what she’s seeing _concern._ About her. Or maybe even _for_ her. The very fact that Zelda is even _asking,_ is even _curious_ about her is…destabilizing.

Lilith clenches her jaw, mind racing to come up with an answer that will be satisfactory, one that will ease that concern, but keep Zelda hooked on her as before.

And if it can be just a little bit of an honest answer…just a little bit…that would be nice. Blame it on a recently-bruised heart, but Lilith would really like to answer her honestly just now.

“I hate bad writing,” she tells Zelda finally, which is accurate enough. She huffs and rolls her eyes. “I didn’t mean what I said about the production value, you really did do a nice job with the sets, the costumes, the effects. It’s the adaptation I didn’t like. The words. The…romance. The weakness. Especially Lilith’s.”

“Well by all means feel free to express that to the children who just worked their tails off for the last several weeks,” Zelda says. “I’m sure it won’t break their hearts. Certainly not Sabrina’s.”

Lilith looks down, actually ashamed of her pettiness.

“At least _pretend_ to be proud of her when you see her,” Zelda entreats.

There’s that concern again, so rare, Lilith feels like she should do something to capture it, just in case it’s the last time she ever sees it. Unable to find the right words, she nods, and tries not to feel wounded when Zelda turns to go back inside.

The witch halts just before opening the door, and spares her a glance, one with a careful kind of sympathy. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t like Faustus’s characterization of Lilith either,” she says haltingly, almost like it’s an apology. “He took all the strength out of her, all the fire I fell in love with when I read the original text.”

Lilith experiences the emotional equivalent of being hit by a bus. “You fell in love with…” she’s too struck to get the rest out.

“With Lilith, yes,” Zelda says. “Hers was my favorite story when I was younger. She was so brave, willful…a troublemaker. A fighter.” She smiles a very small smile, just to herself. “Who wouldn’t fall in love with a woman like that?”

Lilith thanks every minor demon of fortune in Hell for the fact that it’s dark out, so Zelda can’t see just how red her face has turned. Just how uncomfortable she is in her own skin right now, so much so that she wants to peel right out of it and race her soul across the world and find some crevice to hide in for the rest of her unnatural life.

This is far too much for her to handle right now. She started all this with the intention of gaining Zelda’s unwilling obsession—the more unwilling the better. Learning that Zelda’s younger self was in love with her—well not _her,_ admittedly it’s probably just another fanciful tale written by some other ignorant idiot who wouldn’t know her from Eve—but regardless, learning that Zelda has a soft spot in her heart—her cold, cold heart—reserved for Lilith, even an imagined storybook Lilith, sends her world spinning upside down.

Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s kissing Zelda fiercely enough that Zelda loses her balance and her back collides with the door behind her.

Zelda blinks at her in surprise once Lilith releases her. “And here I thought we were fighting,” she says. One eyebrow is arched critically, but there’s a surprised vulnerability in her eyes. Maybe because Lilith has never kissed her like that before. In actuality, Lilith has never kissed _anyone_ like that before. It was just such a sudden and powerful rush of affection that she couldn’t stop herself from surging forward—if anyone ever kissed Lilith like that, she’d probably be shocked too.

“No, it’s just…nice to find someone who…appreciates good characterization,” Lilith says, trying to regain some sense of composure.

Zelda hums out a laugh, and reaches forward, giving Lilith’s arm a warm squeeze. The simple gesture sends feelings Lilith hasn’t felt in a long time pulsing through her—reassurance, stability, kindness.

“Well I’m sure your Baptismal namesake would be proud of you for defending her honor so fiercely,” Zelda says, and her hand is lingering on Lilith’s arm, and Lilith doesn’t ever want her to let go.

Lilith oversteps of course, because she is still just barely grasping at human social graces, and she says impulsively, “Why don’t you come over to the cottage later? Just us. We could have the whole night. To…talk about…good writing. Or brutally critique _bad_ writing, that might be more fun.”

Secretly, she’s thinking more along the lines of finally cleaning the cottage, making it beautiful, lighting candles, taking Zelda to bed—not in the rushed, hidden, guilty way as usual, but something slower, softer, that takes all night and lingers for days. Weeks…months…

And Zelda _is_ smiling, and it’s warm, and she’s tucking a lock of Lilith’s hair behind her ear and stroking it. “Careful, Lilith, you’re going to make me think you’ve gotten sweet on me,” she says, and Lilith glows inside.

But then Zelda ruins the whole thing when she adds, “But I’m afraid I can’t. I’ll be staying with Faustus tonight. To celebrate. I’ll admit to not caring much for his interpretation of the story, but I do need to be there to share in his triumph. It will be expected.”

Lilith feels everything inside herself turn to stone. Just like that.

“But you’ll keep…” She cuts herself off, because that sentence was about to go in too many directions. _But you’ll keep what we have going, you’ll keep on keeping us a secret, you’ll keep…you’ll keep me._

“You’ll keep thinking of me, I’m sure,” she says instead, with as lascivious of a leer as she can manage, because baiting Zelda is the only way she can think of to hold onto her. Keep her coming. Keep her coming back. “No one can make you come like I can, least of all him.”

Zelda gives her an almost playful smirk before leaning in and dragging her lips from Lilith’s jaw to her earlobe, taking it between her teeth and biting down ever so delicately.

“Behave,” she murmurs, “and I might try to find time for you.”

It isn’t what Lilith wants to hear, not by a long shot, but it’s better than nothing, and there really is something to be said for the way Zelda has taken to gentle teasing.

If nothing else, it does finally convince Lilith to clean up the cottage once she gets home. Just in case.

*

And so it comes to be that Lilith starts thinking about what it would be like to be loved by Zelda Spellman.

Not the kind of obsessive, zealous love-hate she started out craving, but the kind of love an unassuming person might have, reading a story they liked, or an unassuming person…meeting another unassuming person, and developing…fondness…for them.

It’s a little bit hard to imagine Zelda loving _anyone_ if Lilith’s honest, save her family of course. But she loves them _hard,_ Lilith has seen it. She’s seen Zelda aggressively blaspheme in defense of Sabrina, aggressively shirk herself of her devotions, andaggressively renounce what is instructed of her—it’s only happened a couple times that Lilith is aware of, and only in extreme cases where Sabrina’s well-being is threatened. But it’s somewhat glorious when it does happen.

There’s a rebelliousness in it, an honest rebellion, that almost reminds Lilith of her own rebellion against Adam. A gut feeling of _this is wrong, I refuse to do it, I won’t do it, nothing on this Earth or any other could ever make me do it._

Lilith wonders what it would be like to have a fierceness like that shaped into something as powerful as the love Zelda has for her family. Wonders what it might be like to have it aimed in her direction.

Wonders what it might be like to carry that fierce love inside herself, and aim it in someone else’s direction. Someone like Zelda.

…That’s a little _too_ much. She should know better by now than to romanticize things. Especially after that inane play, seeing all her weaker spots exposed and made fanciful and degrading.

To compensate for her weakness, she retreats to the comfortable discomfort of her place as Satan’s Concubine. She plays his game, refocusing her attention on Sabrina, on trying to corrupt Sabrina. But for his ends, or hers, she’s no longer sure. She’s too caught up in everything, caught up in all her lies, all the webs she’s spun, all the secrets she keeps storing away, secrets from Zelda, secrets from Sabrina, secrets from the Dark Lord himself. She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t wind up trapping herself in those webs, caught somewhere between kissing Satan’s feet, and kissing Zelda’s lips, and she’s not even sure _why_ anymore.

The little moments are the worst. The moments when Zelda lets her stay an extra hour in bed with her, stroking her hair like she’s a giant cat, laughing with her at the ridiculous horoscope readings the mortals put in their newspapers. Zelda has a nice laugh, just a little bit wicked, and she traces her fingers in absent swirls and patterns over Lilith’s skin while she reads aloud.

She dances with her once, too. Just once. Half-dressed, hair rumpled, and maybe a bit blissed out after what Lilith just managed to do with her tongue, she turns on the radio on her nightstand and pulls Lilith up with her, swaying, all malleable and soft, ice temporarily melted.

They dance to one song only, some sappy thing written and performed by a mortal, and Lilith reluctantly admits that mortals do occasionally capture what it’s like to fall victim to a storm of emotions. It’s good, really. It snaps her out of her stupor.

Every time Zelda makes her happy, Lilith goes running to the Dark Lord like a guilty pet who knows they’ve done wrong. And every time the Dark Lord gives her more responsibility in Sabrina’s downfall, she goes running to Zelda and tries to remember, while getting fucked completely senseless, that there’s a grand design to all this. She’s constantly off-balance, constantly grasping at promises of power, constantly scrambling to cover up weaknesses, keeps winding up in one’s bed, the other’s clutches, at the mercy of both.

For all her talk of being _equal_ and submitting to no one, Lilith sure does find herself flat on her back a lot. And when she’s not flat on her back, she’s down on her knees. And when she’s not down on her knees, she’s crawling on her belly, begging for forgiveness she isn’t sure she really wants anymore.

It’s almost a relief—and almost her downfall—when Zelda announces one evening that she and Faustus fucking Blackwood are to be joined in unholy matrimony before the month is out.

*

So _maybe_ Lilith spirals a bit.

 _Maybe_ she starts second-guessing her entire existence.

 _Maybe_ she tries to commit mass murder at a high school Valentine’s Day dance.

Oh stop, she’s done worse.

And anyway it’s a moot point thanks to Adam.

_Adam._

Well. Adam the Second. Lilith has to make that distinction so her head doesn’t explode.

Adam the Second, Mary Wardwell’s fiance, newly returned from being just about as golden of a boy as he can be, following her around like a puppy, giving her flowers, holding her hand, wanting to dance.

Adam the Second is very annoying. He’s also very kind, very gentle, and very nearly cracks her heart right in half. She wasn’t even aware she still had one of those.

Lilith is glad to be rid of him, in the end. Glad to be tricked by the Dark Lord into consuming his flesh and then vomiting up his remains and the softer, tattered bits of her heart into the toilet. Where they belong. Good to be purged of all that nonsense.

It’s for the best.

It really is.

She’ll hardly miss him.

Barely at all.

Just watch her.

Reality does seem to fall apart around her, though. The Dark Lord’s betrayal, Adam the Second’s death, Zelda’s disappearance into whatever black hole Faustus has her in…suddenly there isn’t anything to hold onto anymore, and Lilith…well, Lilith becomes untethered.

*

Murdering Sabrina seems like a fantastic idea for all of a day and a half before Lilith discovers she doesn’t really have the stomach for it. She’s spent so long protecting her, she almost doesn’t know how _not_ to protect her anymore. She gives it a good enough shot for a little while, summons a few demons to tear Sabrina’s limbs from her torso, but they’re easily defeated. She conjures a half-baked storm on the off-chance Sabrina gets hit by lightning or catches a cold, but that’s easily avoided. Lilith’s final attempt at offing Sabrina is sending a straw man of her making—Adam the Third—to rip the flesh from her bones, but to be quite frank, her heart just isn’t in it, even if her rib is.

It does, however, get Zelda’s attention. And isn’t that what Lilith’s life is all about, getting someone’s attention, anyone’s attention, by any means necessary.

Apparently, admitting to trying to murder her former paramour’s niece isn’t actually the _best_ of ideas. Neither is revealing her true identity—that not only is her Dark Baptismal name Lilith, she actually _is_ Lilith, _the_ Lilith, as in Lucifer-and-Adam-and-Eve Lilith, who has been pulling far too many strings at once, braiding her own noose and hanging herself with it.

Zelda keeps herself detached from this revelation in typical Zelda fashion until the immediate crisis of saving Sabrina and the world at large from being overrun by Hell is satisfyingly quelled. It’s just so very _Zelda_ of her. Keeping it together like that, ice and steel, unshakable as always.

Until quite suddenly, she isn’t. Quite suddenly, Zelda confronts her in a _very_ un-Zelda-like fashion.

Specifically, when Lilith goes to her to say what she had imagined would be an extremely awkward farewell before she returns to the pit, Zelda slaps her. Hard. Hard enough that Lilith’s head snaps to the side and an angry blotch of red rises to the surface of her skin.

Honestly, Zelda looks more shocked at her own loss of self-control than Lilith feels.

Lilith straightens up and lifts her hand gingerly to her stinging cheek. “I didn’t know you had it in you,” she says coolly. Her blood feels like it’s made of ice, and there’s fire in Zelda’s eyes, and it’s a most disturbing role reversal.

“You go after my family, that’s what you get,” Zelda declares, head thrown back and chin high. “In fact, that’s the _least_ of what you get. I should do exactly what I told you I’d do when I first met you, and drown you in a pit of your own entrails.”

Lilith remembers hearing her say that months ago and becoming absolutely smitten. It’s decidedly less sexy now. So is being slapped.

Lilith composes herself, and there really is something to be said for turning to ice, like Zelda always has. Lilith feels protected in coldness, unbreakable. Numb. She’s hardly bothered by that faint shine in Zelda’s eyes, the way light catches in them in the same manner it catches in a pool of water, or the welling of tears.

“I saved your family,” Lilith counters without emotion. “You could try thanking me.” She angles her head to fully display the crown of Hell resting atop it in all its glory. “Or worshipping me.”

Zelda answers by slapping her again.

It almost strikes Lilith as funny. Zelda is a powerful witch, there’s all manner of magic she could call upon right now to try to ensnare Lilith, bring her to her knees, destroy her even. It wouldn’t work, but she’d have bet her claim on Hell that Zelda would at least put the effort in. Hell, Lilith almost expects her to make good on her vow and try to eviscerate Lilith where she stands. Instead, she simply slaps her, like she’s so angry she’s forgotten magic even exists. Physical contact like this, uncontrolled outburst like this, it’s…messy. Not like Zelda. Not like Zelda at all.

Lilith should feel triumphant right now. It’s what she wanted, right from the start, Zelda losing control, Zelda being shaken to the core, Zelda getting something out of being with her that she can’t get from anyone else. Wasn’t that the point of all this?

Instead she feels just as anchor-less as before. Or…maybe _too_ anchored. Pulled down to the bottom of some very confusing ocean, and unable to break free to the surface. So she baits her again, like she always has, because she doesn’t know what else to do.

“Who else do you have to pray to, exactly?” she asks Zelda with a taunting lift of her eyebrow. “The Dark Lord is rendered useless inside the body of a teenager…who will you worship if not me? Surely not Sabrina?” Her eyes narrow as a horrible thought occurs to her. “For the love of all that is unholy, tell me it won’t be Faustus…”

Zelda barks out a short, almost violent laugh. “Oh catch up, won’t you,” she scoffs. “I wrenched myself out of his clutches weeks ago. You might even go so far as to say I overthrew him and chased him into exile.”

Lilith blinks a bit stupidly. “You overthrew…”

“Yes, overthrew. I was his zombie bride for weeks, made to scrape and simper and dress in floral prints. It was utter torture. And _you_ were nowhere to be found. Too busy with all your scheming and manipulation to notice my disappearance, no doubt.”

Color rushes to Lilith’s cheeks, and she’s bounced very quickly between several opposing emotions—her grip on iciness is not so firm, it turns out. At first she feels defensive, because no, actually, she wasn’t just _scheming,_ she was in _agony,_ tormented left and right by the Dark Lord’s manipulations, and Zelda has _no right_ to make the judgments she does when she understands so little. Second, she feels ashamed, and angry that she wasn’t aware of what was happening in Zelda’s life, ashamed and angry that she wasn’t around to send Adam the Third to devour Faustus, or simply snap Faustus’s neck herself. The idea of Zelda under his thumb, crushed under his heel, makes her want to set the world on fire. She’s horrified that Zelda likely thought at the time that she didn’t care. But third, and most overwhelmingly…

“Well I’m glad you’re safe now,” she says quietly. And as she softens, Zelda seems to harden again, like she’s drawing the cold out of her and back into herself.

“It was never a question of safe, I’m more than capable of looking after myself,” Zelda says staunchly. _“And_ my family. And my coven. What’s left of it, at any rate.”

“Zelda, if I’d known…” Lilith cuts herself off there because if she’s honest, she isn’t sure _what_ she would have done if she’d known, isn’t sure she’d have been capable of anything, not in the state she was. She dips her head, lowering her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry. I really did try to make things right, though, haven’t I made things right?”

Zelda has successfully finished siphoning all hints of iciness out of Lilith and back into her own bloodstream. “You’ve slapped a bandaid on a gaping wound you yourself made,” she says shortly. “You’ve done the bare minimum of taking responsibility for what you’ve put m—put Sabrina through, and now you want to be _worshipped?”_ Her gaze on Lilith is nothing short of scathing. “You know, I could almost forgive you. I can admit to admiring your tenacity, your ambition. But you went after one of my own. And you almost made me think you…well you lied to me is the point. And Satan knows I can’t stand to be lied to, not by anyone, certainly not someone I care for.”

Lilith’s brain makes a sort of screeching sound. “What on earth do you mean _care for?”_ she demands, utterly thunderstruck.

“Lilith, don’t pretend to be stupid, it’s not a good look on you.”

“I’m not _pretending._ That is, I’m—how in the world was I supposed to know you _care for_ me?”

“I don’t see how I possibly could have made it any clearer.”

“Oh right, silly me, I must have missed that somehow in between you cavorting ostentatiously around with Faustus, and keeping me neatly filed away in some hidden compartment of your psyche as if I didn’t even _exist,”_ she snaps.

Zelda actually seems to be at a loss for words for a moment, before sniffing haughtily and snipping out, “None of that matters. Whether I cared for you or not is besides the point, we needn’t discuss it any further.” She opens the front door, and holds it ajar with an expectant look at Lilith. “Now. Don’t you have a throne somewhere you need to slither back to?”

Lilith clenches her jaw, and hates that she feels _hurt_ right now. _Hurt_ has no place in the heart of a Queen. She clips past Zelda on the high heels she’s finally mastered walking in. “See you in Hell,” she mutters before disappearing through the threshold.

*

In all honesty, being Queen of Hell isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The denizens are ungrateful, the view’s nothing to write home about, and the food all has worms on it.

Worst of all, it’s very lonely. Lilith has spent so long coveting the throne of Hell, she forgot that at the end of the day, it really isn’t all that fun. Beaches of bone, oceans of blood, jungles of despair, and wastelands of soullessness notwithstanding…it does lack for something. A certain je ne sais quois, as those of the mortal realm might say.

She spends more time topside than she probably should. She’s loathe to call what she does there “stalking Zelda” but…she might stalk Zelda. Occasionally.

One thing she will say, the self-created role of High Priestess suits Zelda beautifully. The coven—depleted as it is—flourishes under her hand. It’s not without its trials of course—Pagan gods, Eldritch horrors, hormonal teenagers—but all things considered, Zelda carries herself with grace. As to be expected.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that it’s the threat of the Apocalypse (they must be on almost-Apocalpyse number thirteen at this point) that brings Lilith hurtling into Zelda’s life again. A crippling blow to the fabric of reality and a sprained ankle will do that to you.

What, Lilith got accustomed to wearing high heels, it’s not her fault she broke a pair of them trying to run away from a time worm and fell through a crack in the inadvertently-created Sixteenth Circle of Hell onto Zelda’s living room couch.

Zelda, for her part, receives quite the shock to have Lilith so suddenly sprawled, all legs and hair and broken stilettos, in her lap.

“Well,” she says once she’s recovered herself, and casually straightens the lace at her throat. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

*

Zelda looks good in blood. Specifically, Zelda looks good drenched in the blood of her vanquished enemies, bathed in the glow of a thousand lightning bolts striking the town of Greendale at once.

Alright, so the lightning bolts are Sabrina’s doing, she’s the Queen of Hell and probably A Galaxy Far Far Away at this point and things tend to burst into explosions of growth and destruction every time she takes a breath…and yes, Lilith has resigned herself to being Sabrina’s eternally reluctant Guardian Demon, there’s just no getting past it at this point…But proud as she is to see Sabrina single-handedly lay waste to the Armies of Darkness, there’s really nothing that compares to the sight of Zelda dislodging her umbrella from the eye socket of a temporal beast, drenching herself in a spray of blood and eyeball goop, much of which mats to her strawberry-blonde hair and drips off the frame of her over-sized sunglasses down her neck while she takes a long drag from her cigarette holder.

Someone really should tell her that smoking is a bad habit, but as the former poster child for Zelda’s bad habits, Lilith doesn’t really think it’s her place to bring it up.

This particular brush with the Apocalypse has been a literal and figurative Hell of a war, and Lilith is very much compelled to march right over to Zelda and kiss her as dramatically as possible in the shower of flames raining down upon the Earth.

She is delayed by Sabrina, who throws her arms around Lilith and snuggles right into her. “You came back,” she says. “You saved us. You’re officially part of the Fright Club now.”

Lilith, faintly horrified and more than a little confused, makes panicked eye contact with Zelda, who looks like she might be enjoying a good laugh at her expense.

*

Almost-Apocalypse number thirteen leaves the entire city of Pandemonium in need of some serious renovation.

“Of course you’ll stay at ours while construction’s underway,” Hilda tells Lilith, hooking elbows with her and escorting her from the Gates of Hell back to the Spellman manor.

She stops up short at the end of their driveway and turns Lilith around to face her, grip firm on her arm. “I’m going to be staying at Doctor Cee’s tonight,” she says, and Lilith nods as if that means something to her. “Sabrina’s at the Academy, along with Ambrose. It’ll be just you and Zelds here for the night.”

Lilith feels a bit queasy.

Hilda turns to leave, then stops herself, going back to Lilith and giving her a thin-lipped smile. “Feel like this needs to be said before I go,” she says. “I seem like the push-over in this family, I know that. But I feel it’s only fair to warn you, because I like you, that I make a habit of baking people who’ve done me and my family wrong into pies and feeding them to their loved ones. Just something to keep in that wee head of yours while I’m gone.” She pats Lilith on the cheek. “Nighty-night, then.”

And so it comes to pass that Lilith is left shuffling barefoot with her broken stilettos in one hand up the dark drive to the Spellman manor.

She is unexpectedly treated to the sight of Zelda, dressed in the barest of white night shifts, all the blood and gore from this morning’s battle washed away, lounging on a blanket in the front yard, apparently soaking up the light of the moon.

Lilith would never say that Zelda looks like a goddess, not to her face, but Zelda does look a bit like a goddess.

She clears her throat so Zelda will hear her approach and not be startled. Zelda sits up slowly, gaze falling on her, and while she still has that unspoken air of regality about her, there’s no ice in her eyes, no steel. Simply a serene power.

Much to her dismay, Lilith actually does find herself saying the words, “You look…ethereal,” before she can stop herself.

Zelda purses her lips, giving Lilith a once-over. “And you look like Hell,” she returns after a moment, and there’s warmth in her eyes, a small smile barely hidden, and Lilith laughs and sits down next to her on the blanket, just out of reach.

“So…” Lilith says. “Nighttime sunbathing?”

“I worship the moon now,” Zelda tells her matter-of-factly. “We’re a Triple Goddess coven these days.”

Lilith looks up at the night sky and thinks that as far as things to worship go, the moon isn’t half bad. Especially when worshipping it includes the visual of Zelda, scantily clad and hair unbound, bathing in its rays.

Somewhere behind the house, a goat bleats in a decidedly perturbed manner.

“I sacrifice goats now, too,” Zelda adds when Lilith gives her a curious look. “It’s a symbolic gesture. Besides, Hildie’s discovered that recipe for baked goats’ feet you brought over goes well with margaritas. We serve them to the rest of the coven on holy days.”

“How festive.”

Zelda gazes at her softly for a moment, looking like she’s searching for words in Lilith’s eyes. “I hate the way we left things,” she says finally.

“I’m not some delicate-skinned mortal, Zelda. It’s been months, I’m over it,” Lilith lies.

“Well I’m not. What I did, what I said…I’ve replayed it a hundred times in my head. I wish I hadn’t acted the way I did. It was unfair.”

“Well I did try to manipulate your niece into unleashing Hell on Earth. So. It was a little bit fair.”

“You were trying to keep your head above water,” Zelda says. “You were being used and brutalized and I can’t imagine I made life any easier for you. I wish I’d known what was going on with you. I’d have protected you.”

Lilith is…stunned, to say the least. “Is all this insight coming from the moon, or…?”

“Stories Sabrina has told me,” Zelda says. “And some divining of my own.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway. Hilda’s been writing romance novels and forcing me to read them…apparently I’m supposed to _tell_ people my feelings if I have them. I should have been clearer about the fact that I cared for you, I should have brought you in. Expressing emotion has…never been one of my strong suits, perhaps _especially_ to the people I care about.” She huffs out a breath. “I’m trying to be more open these days, and the truth is, I enjoyed being with you. I looked forward to seeing you every day, it thrilled me every time you walked through the door.” She tilts her head. “The sex wasn’t bad either.”

Lilith is still a little too stunned to know how to react like a normal person to kindness, and the words “It was better than fucking a goat man, I’ll give you that,” are out of her mouth before she’s able to think of a more appropriate response. She shakes her head. “Sorry. That wasn’t what I…I’m not fantastic at expressing emotions either.”

Zelda smiles for a moment, then looks sad. “The truth is, I used you,” she says quietly. “Everything else in my life was so out of control and I was trying so hard to keep up appearances. You were the one…imperfect thing I could indulge in. And when I say you were ‘imperfect,’” she hastens to add, “I just mean you were…well, you…”

“I was a disaster, you can say it.”

“You were my refuge,” Zelda says. “You were the only real thing, and yes I kept you a secret, but it wasn’t because I was ashamed, at least not entirely. I just wanted you to be mine and only mine, my secret to keep, my joy, my pleasure, my…frustration—you can you be extremely frustrating. I loved that about you.”

Lilith inches in just the slightest bit closer. “I used you too,” she admits. “Maybe for the same reason. I was so lost in fantasies of power offered by the Dark Lord, and fantasies of fairytale endings offered by Adam…but you were always my one real thing, even if I couldn’t see it at the time. You were the only real thing that mattered, to be honest.”

Zelda tilts her head. “Dare I ask who Adam is?”

Lilith exhales slowly and realizes she still feels raw about that whole ordeal. “Adam is…a long story,” she says, “which I will happily tell you some other time when I’m significantly less sober.”

“Ah. Understood.”

“Long story short,” Lilith says, “I used you as an escape. Just like you used me as an escape.”

“So we were both using each other for selfish ends.”

“It’s almost a bit romantic of us when you think about it.”

“No it isn’t.”

“No. No it isn’t, you’re right.”

Zelda reaches forward and absently begins to play with the ends of Lilith’s hair. “So what do you have to escape from now?” she asks. At Lilith’s curious look, she clarifies, “I don’t know about you, but I’m not exactly trapped in a world of despair these days, I don’t have anything I’m running from, and I’d still…possibly…like to be with you. Even in a non-escapism capacity.”

“Now _that_ was romantic,” Lilith deadpans, eyebrows raised.

She regrets her words almost immediately. Zelda looks vulnerable in just about every way just now—starting, yes, with the fact that Lilith has very rarely seen this much of her body exposed. Even when they were having sex, Zelda was usually at least half-dressed. But here she is, lying mostly exposed in a clearing under the open sky, and there’s a softness to her face and the barest hint of a tremor in her voice, and it’s somewhere between beautiful and alarming.

“That is…I think I’ve probably done more running and trying to escape than most of the world combined,” Lilith says awkwardly. “I could see where it might be nice to be with someone…in a non-escapism capacity. As you put it.”

Zelda makes a sort of humming sound of approval, and takes Lilith’s chin gently in her hand, leaning in to capture her lips with her own. Lilith kisses back with a satisfied sigh, pressing Zelda back against the ground, easing her wrists above her head, hands skimming up her arms, entwining their fingers together.

Lilith isn’t _entirely_ convinced she wants to start worshipping the moon—she’s kind of gone off worshipping things in general, to be honest—but worshipping a woman bathed in moonlight, particularly if that woman is Zelda Spellman, does have its appeal.

Then again, maybe worship is the wrong word altogether.

Maybe something more like _care for_ or even _love._

Not that she’ll be saying that any time soon.

She has to keep up _some_ appearances.

For now, it’s good to simply stop running, stop escaping, stop trying to define and re-define her _place._ Her place, for now, is here. No gods, no followers, just Zelda in her arms and the dawn breaking on the horizon.


End file.
